It is likely that the AFL competition for 2006 will have to be cancelled.

Under the new Anti Terrorism Laws the Bombers are banned, the new Industrial Relations legislation rules out the Dockers and the Asian flu epidemic is wreaking havoc with the Crows, Eagles, Hawks, Magpies and Swans.

Any transfers to the Kangaroos, Cats, Lions, Dogs and Tigers must now be quarantined for at least 12 months. Religious vilification laws mean that no one can legally barrack for the Demons or the Saints.

This only leaves the Power and the Blues who no one wants to barrack for anyway.

When I was a teenager, we used to take our annual holidays in Italy and
my mum insisted my father drive non-stop through France rather than
risk another horrifying encounter with a French pissoir. I don't know
if you have ever tried to hold your bladder in for four hours in a car
travelling at speeds in excess of 120 miles an hour, but it may explain
why my mother had the thigh muscles of an Olympic athlete. Those of you
who have never been to France may think my mother was a bit picky, but
then you've probably never had to squat over a smelly hole in the
ground whilst clinging for dear life to two rusty, iron chains in a
damp cellar illuminated by a single light bulb dangling from the
ceiling that had last been changed during the German occupation
forty years earlier, while a cadaverous male attendant reeking of garlic
politely enquired if you would like another sheet of newspaper.

Toilets may have improved a bit since then (though not in France), but
taking a pee is still fraught with more unseen dangers for us girls
than exploring the uncharted rain forests of the Amazon.

The first thing my mother taught me was to grab a handful of toilet
paper and wipe the seat. Then, she'd carefully lay strips of toilet
paper to cover the seat. Lesson two was learning to assume 'The
position'. This required carefully balancing over the toilet in a
squatting position without actually letting any of your flesh make
contact with the toilet seat. The flaw in this strategy was that by the
time I was ready to pee, my thigh muscles had given up the struggle,
I'd overbalance, land heavily on the seat and the trickle of wetness
down the inside of my leg meant we'd have to go home to change my knickers.

That was a long time ago. Even now, in my forties, 'The Position' is
excruciatingly difficult to maintain for more than thirty seconds,
especially when one's bladder is bursting.

If that wasn't bad enough, when you have to visit a public loo, you
usually find a line of anxious women have got there before you, which
makes you think you must have taken a wrong turning and stumbled across
a half-price sale of M&S underwear. So, you wait, trying not to look as if you're
squeezing your legs together and smile politely at all the
other women, who are also trying not to cross their legs and smiling
through clenched teeth.

As you get closer to your goal, you start checking for feet under
cubicle doors. Naturally every one is occupied. Finally, a door opens
and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the cubicle.
You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter; you have

long arms and tell yourself: 'I'll just keep one hand against it.' At
this point you would hang your handbag on the coat hook if there was
oneÃ¢â‚¬â€but there isn't so you hang it around your neck whilst glancing
furtively about to make sure no one saw you commit such a dreadful faux
pas. You could put it on floor, but given that the floors in public
toilets are invariably wet, you might just as well pee in it yourself.

Finally, you yank down your knickers, and assume the dreaded
'Position'.

Ahhhh, relief. More relief. But then your thighs begin to shake, not
helped by the fact that your left arm is stretched to its fullest
extent trying to keep the door shut. You'd love to sit down but you
didn't have time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper down, so you hold
'The Position' as a quake that would register an eight on the Richter
scale travels through your aching thighs. To take your mind off the
pain, you reach for what you now discover is an empty toilet paper
dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying:
"Darling, if you'd cleaned the seat first, you would have KNOWN there
was no toilet paper!"

Your thigh muscles are seconds away from snapping like old knicker
elastic. You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on
yesterday the one that's in your handbag, which you cannot unzip
because you only have one free hand. So you take your hand off the door
and scrabble about in your bag until you find a ball of paper that
would barely cover a gnat's arse. You smooth it out and fluff it up,
but it is still only slightly larger than your thumbnail. At this point
someone pushes open the door because you've taken your hand away to
open your bag. The door hits your handbag, which thumps you in the
chest and you and your bag topple backward against the toilet
cistern which is disconcertingly wet.

"Occupied!" you scream, as you slam the door shut, dropping your
precious, tiny, crumpled tissue on the wet floor and parking your naked
bum directly on the odious toilet seat. You recoil instantly, knowing
only too well the damage is done. Your bare arse has made contact with
every imaginable germ on the planet because YOU never laid down toilet
paper on the filthy seat not that there was any, even if you had
bothered to look. You may even have contracted a sexually transmitted
disease or worse, been impregnated by some adventurous sperm that
escaped from the disgusting slut who sat on the seat before you, and
has been patiently biding its time waiting for its next victim.

You know that your mother would be utterly ashamed of you if she knew,
because you're certain that her bare bottom never touched a public
toilet seat in her life. By this time, the automatic sensor on the back
of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, sending up a stream of
water to rival Niagara Falls that sucks everything down with such force
that you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of having your
bottom dragged off to Australia.

At that point, you give up. Your skirt is soaked by the splashing
water, your blouse is sticking to your back, there's pee running down
your legs and your expensive Aubade knickers look like the cat's been
sleeping in them. You're exhausted. You try to wipe yourself with a
crumpled bus ticket you found in your pocket, and slink out
inconspicuously to the washbasins, but not before laddering your tights
on the broken door latch which you now discover has a bloody great nail
sticking out of it.

You can't work out how to operate the taps with the automatic sensors,
so you wash your hands with liquid soap (most of which ends up on your
blouse) and dry them under the hot air blower because, of course, there
are no
paper towels in the dispensers. Have you ever tried drying
liquid soap with hot air? Ten minutes later you stumble out and shuffle
past the queue of waiting women, still cross-legged and, at this point,
you no longer care that your manic grimace is met with disapproving
stares.

Just when you thought things couldn't possibly get any worse, one kind
soul at the very end of the queue points out that you are trailing a
piece of toilet paper on your shoe as long as the river Nile! (Where
was it when you NEEDED it??) You rip the paper from your shoe, shove it
in the woman's hand and tell her cattily, "HereÃ¢â‚¬â€you might need this."

As you leave the house of horrors, you spot your husband loitering
impatiently outside, having long since entered, used and left the men's
toilets and read a copy of Gone with the Wind whist waiting for you.
The icing on the cake will be when he asks: "What took you so long,
darling, and why is your
skirt tucked into the back of your knickers?"
Silently you curse the censored who pointed out the toilet paper stuck to
your shoe, but omitted to mention that your bum has been on display to
every pervert in the place.

Our male readers will now know not only why women take so long to
powder their noses, but also why we always go to the toilet in pairs.
It's so the other woman can hold the door shut and pass you the toilet
paper under the door.

>Now that food has replaced censored in my life,
>I can't even get into my own pants.
>
>Marriage changes passion.
>Suddenly you're in bed with a relative.
>
>I saw a woman wearing a sweat shirt with "Guess" on it.
>So I said "Implants?" She hit me.
>
>A good friend will come and bail you out of jail...but, a true friend
will be sitting next to you saying,
"Wow...that was fun!"
>
>I signed up for an exercise class and was told to wear loose-fitting
>clothing. If I HAD any loose-fitting clothing,
I wouldn't have signed up in the first place!
>
>When I was young we used to go "skinny dipping," now I just "chunky
dunk."
>(really liked this one)
>
>Wouldn't it be nice if whenever we messed up our life we could simply
press
>'Ctrl Alt Delete' and start all over?
>
>Why is it that our children can't read a Bible in school, but they can
in prison?
>
>Wouldn't you know it...
>Brain cells come and brain cells go, but FATcells live forever.
>
> And remember: life is like a roll of toilet paper. The closer it
gets to the end, the faster it goes.

For my fortieth birthday this year, my wife (the dear) purchased a
week of personal training at the local health club for me. Although I
am still in great shape since playing on my High School football team
25 yrs ago, I decided it would be a good idea to go ahead and give it
a try.

Called the club and made my reservation with a personal trainer named
Belinda, who identified herself as a 26 yr. old aerobics instructor
and model for athletic clothing and swimwear. My wife seemed pleased
with my enthusiasm to get started! The club encouraged me to keep a
diary to chart my progress.

MONDAY:

Started my day at 6:00am. Tough to get out of bed, but it was well
worth it when I arrived at the health club to find Belinda waiting for
me. She was something of a Greek goddess -- with blonde hair, dancing
eyes and a dazzling white smile. Woo Hoo!!!!!

Belinda gave me a tour and showed me the machines. She took my pulse
after 5 minutes on the treadmill. She was alarmed that my pulse was so fast,
but I attributed it to standing next to her in her Lycra aerobics
outfit. I enjoyed watching the skillful way in which she conducted her
aerobics class after my workout today.

Very inspiring, Belinda was encouraging as I did my sit-ups, although
my gut was already aching from holding it in the whole time she was
around. This is going to be a FANTASTIC week!!

TUESDAY:

I drank a whole pot of coffee, but I finally made it out the door.
Belinda made me lie on my back and push a heavy iron bar into the air,
and then she put weights on it! My legs were a little wobbly on the
treadmill, but I made the full mile. Belinda's rewarding smile made it
all worthwhile. I feel GREAT!! It's a whole new life for me.

WEDNESDAY:
The only way I can brush my teeth is by laying the toothbrush on the
counter and moving my mouth back and forth over it. I believe I have a
hernia in both pectorals. Driving was OK as long as I didn't try to
steer or stop. I parked on top of a GEO in the club parking lot.
Belinda was impatient with me, insisting that my screams bothered
other club members. Her voice is a little too perky for early in the
morning and when she scolds, she gets this nasally whine that is VERY
annoying.

My chest hurt when I got on the treadmill, so Belinda put me on the
stair monster. Why the hell would anyone invent a machine to simulate
an activity rendered obsolete by elevators? Belinda told me it would
help me get in shape and enjoy life. She said some other censored too.

THURSDAY:

Belinda was waiting for me with her vampire-like teeth exposed as her
thin, cruel lips were pulled back in a full snarl. I couldn't help
being a half an hour late; it took me that long to tie my shoes.
Belinda took me to work out with dumbbells. When she was not looking,
I ran and hid in the men's room. She sent Lars to find me, then, as punishment,
put me on the rowing machine -- which I sank.

FRIDAY:

I hate that censored Belinda more than any human being has ever hated any
other human being in the history of the world. Stupid, skinny, anemic
little cheerleader. If there were a part of my body I could move
without unbearable pain, I would beat her with it.
Belinda wanted me to work on my triceps. I don't have any triceps! And
if you don't want dents in the floor, don't hand me the *&%#(#&**!!@*@
Barbells or anything that weighs more than a sandwich.

The treadmill flung me off and I landed on a health and nutrition
teacher. Why couldn't it have been someone softer, like the drama coach or the
choir director?

SATURDAY:

Belinda left a message on my answering machine in her grating, shrilly
voice wondering why I did not show up today. Just hearing her made me
want to smash the machine with my planner. However, I lacked the
strength to even use the TV remote and ended up catching eleven
straight hours of the Weather Channel.

SUNDAY:

I'm having the Church van pick me up for services today so I can go
and thank GOD that this week is over. I will also pray that next year,
my wife (the censored); will choose a gift for me that is fun -- like a
root canal or a vasectomy.

A retired corporate executive decided to take a vacation. He booked himself on a Caribbean cruise and proceeded to have the time of his life ... until the boat sank!

He found himself on an island with no other people, no supplies, nothing, only bananas and coconuts.

After about four months, he is lying on the beach one day, when the most gorgeous woman he has ever seen rows up to the shore. In disbelief, he asks her, "Where did you come from? How did you get here?"

She replies, "I rowed from the other side of the island. I landed here when my cruise ship sank."

"Amazing," he says. "You were really lucky to have a row boat wash up with you."

"Oh, this?" replies the woman. "I made the boat out of raw material I found on the island. The oars were whittled from gum tree branches. I wove the bottom from palm branch and the sides and stern came from a Eucalyptus tree."

"But, where did you get the tools?"

"Oh, that was no problem," replied the woman. "On the south side of the island, a very unusual stratum of alluvial rock is exposed. I found if I fired it to a certain temperature in my kiln, it melted into forgeable, ductile iron. I used that for tools and used the tools to make the hardware." The guy is stunned.

"Let's row over to my place," she says. After a few hours of rowing, she docks the boat at a small wharf.

As the man looks to shore, he nearly falls out off the boat. Before him is a stone walk leading to an exquisite bungalow painted in blue and white. While the woman ties up the rowboat with an expertly woven hemp rope, the man can only stare ahead, dumb struck.

As they walk into the house, she says casually, "It's not much, but I call it home. Sit down, please.

Would you like a drink?"

"No. No, thank you," he says, still dazed. "Can't take any more coconut juice."

"It's not coconut juice," the woman replies. "I have a still. How about a Pina Colada?"

Trying to hide his continued amazement, the man accepts, and they sit down on her couch to talk.

After they have exchanged their stories, the woman announces, "I'm going to slip into something more comfortable. Would you like to take a shower and shave? There is a razor upstairs in the bathroom cabinet."

No longer questioning anything, the man goes into the bathroom. There, in the cabinet, is a razor made from a bone handle. Two shells honed to a hollow ground edge are fastened on to its end inside a swivel mechanism. "This woman is amazing," he muses. "What next?"

When he returns, she greets him wearing nothing but vines and flowers strategically positioned, and smelling of gardenias.

She beckons for him to sit down next to her! . "Tell me," she begins suggestively, slithering closer to him, "We've been out here for a really long time. You've been lonely. There's something I'm sure you really feel like doing right now, something you've been longing for all these months?" She stares into his eyes and takes his hand in hers...

He can't believe what he's hearing. He swallows excitedly, tears start to form in his eyes, and he says,

Donald and Nora live in Aberdeen. One winter morning while listening to
the radio, they hear the announcer say, "We are going to have 8 to 10
inches of snow today. You must park your car on the even numbered side
of the street, so the snow plough can get through."
Nora goes out and moves her car.
A week later while they are eating breakfast, the radio announcer
says, "We are expecting 10 to 12 inches of snow today.
You must park your car on the odd numbered side of the street, so the
snow plough can get through."
Nora goes out and moves her car again.

The next week they are having breakfast again, when the radio
announcer says "We are expecting 12 to 14 inches of snow today.
You must park ........." then the electric power goes out and Nora is
very upset.
With a worried look on her face Nora says, "Honey, I don't know what
to do. Which side of the street do I need to park on so the plough can
get through?"
With the love and understanding in his voice that all men who are
married to blondes exhibit, Donald says, "Why don't you just leave it
in the garage this time?

Mum used to cut chicken, slice eggs and spread mayo on the same cutting board with the same knife and no bleach, but we didn't get food poisoning.

My Mum used to defrost mince-meat on the kitchen sink AND I used to eat a bite raw sometimes, too. Our school sandwiches were wrapped in wax paper, in a brown paper bag, not in icepack coolers, but I can't remember anybody getting e.coli.

Almost all of us would have rather gone swimming in the lake instead of a pristine pool (talk about boring), no beach closures then.

The term cell phone would have conjured up a phone in a jail cell, and a pager was the school PA system.

We all played sport, and also did PE... and risked permanent injury with a pair of Dunlop runners (only worn in the gym or the sports ground) instead of having cross-training athletic shoes with air cushion soles and built-in light reflectors.. I can't recall any injuries but they must have happened, because they tell us how much safer we are now....

Flunking sport was not an option.... even for stupid kids! There were not many fat kids.

Speaking of school, we all said prayers and sang the National Anthem and got free school milk for strong bones and teeth, and staying in detention after school caught all sorts of negative attention. We must have had horribly damaged psyches.

What an archaic health system we had then. Remember school nurses? Ours wore a hat and everything, and she could even give you an aspirin for a headache or fever.

I thought that I was supposed to accomplish something before I was allowed to be proud of myself. I just can't recall how bored we were without computers, Play Station, Nintendo, X-box or 270 digital TV cable stations.

Oh yeah..and where was the Benadryl and sterilization kit when I got that bee sting? I could have been killed!

We played 'king of the castle' on piles of gravel left on vacant construction sites, and when we got hurt, Mum pulled out the 48-cent bottle of Mercurochrome (kids liked it better because it didn't sting like iodine did) and then we got our hair ruffled and got told to get back out there! Now it's a trip to the emergency room, followed by a 10-day dose of a $49 bottle of antibiotics, and then Mum calls the Solicitor to sue the contractor for leaving a horribly vicious pile of gravel where it was such a threat.

We didn't misbehave at the mate's house either, because if we did, we got our bum smacked there, and then we got bum belted again when we got home. I recall Donny Reynolds from next door coming over and doing his tricks on the front veranda, just before he fell off. Little did his Mum know that she could have owned our house. Instead, she picked him up and swatted him for being such a yobbo.

It was a neighbourhood run amuck.

To top it off, not a single person I knew had ever been told that they were from a "dysfunctional family". How could we possibly have known that we needed to get into group therapy and anger management classes? We were obviously so duped by so many societal ills, that we didn't even notice that the entire country wasn't taking Prozac! How did we ever survive?

LOVE TO ALL OF US WHO SHARED THIS ERA, AND TO ALL WHO DIDN'T---- SORRY FOR WHAT YOU MISSED. I WOULDN'T TRADE IT FOR ANYTHING

My wonderful girlfriend and I had been dating for over a year, and we decided to get married. There was only one little thing bothering me.
It was her beautiful younger sister. My prospective sister-in-law was
twenty-two, wore very tight miniskirts, and generally was braless. She would regularly bend down when she was near me, and I always got more than a pleasant view. She never did it when she was near anyone else.
One day "little" sister called and asked me to come over to check the
wedding invitations. She was alone when I arrived, and she whispered to me that she had feelings and desires for me that she couldn't overcome.

She told me that she wanted to make love to me just once before I got
married and committed my life to her sister. Well, I was in total shock, and couldn't say a word. She said, "I'm going upstairs to my bedroom, and if you want one last wild fling, just come up and get me."

I was stunned- frozen in shock as I watched her go up the stairs. She
pulled off her panties and threw them down the stairs at me. I stood there for a moment, then turned and made a beeline straight to the front door. I opened the door, and headed straight towards my car.

Lo and behold, my entire future family was standing outside, all clapping! With tears in his eyes, my future father-in-law hugged me and said, "We are very happy that you have passed our little test. We couldn't ask for a better man for our daughter. Welcome to the
family."